


Everybody Wants Something

by PugMaster



Category: Degrassi High
Genre: Angst, Don't Have to Know Canon, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Teenage Drama, canon-typical teenage shenanigans, set during/after 4x07 “Just Friends”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PugMaster/pseuds/PugMaster
Summary: Snake and Wheels are friends, but it'd be better if they weren't. If they weren't, maybe things would be different, and Wheels would have made out with Heather without feeling like something was just off.Or: Heather's party causes a confrontation that leaves everybody scrambling.
Relationships: Archibald "Snake" Simpson & Joey Jeremiah, Archibald "Snake" Simpson/Derek "Wheels" Wheeler, Derek "Wheels" Wheeler & Joey Jeremiah, background Joey/Caitlin/Claude love triangle, references to past Snake/Melanie
Comments: 31
Kudos: 15
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	1. Chapter 1

It’s dark and cold and loud when it happens. Wheels is sitting on Heather’s porch, hair sweaty and chapstick smeared on his face, wondering what the hell just happened and how. It was only a few minutes ago, but it feels like it’s long in the past. He’s already at the _let’s never speak of this again_ phase of a bad decision. Heather’s not there yet. Then again, she probably doesn’t think it was a bad decision. She looked so happy. He was just swept up in the suddenness of it, in her grabby hands and sloppy kissing, but she was so thrilled.

And then he said _I’ll call you tomorrow_ and made it about a billion times worse. There’s no way he’s going to be able to call her, because how do you tell someone you just made out with that you don’t really like them— especially over the phone? And that’s assuming she doesn’t ask _why_ he won’t go out with her. What’s he going to do then? No one ever asked why he never did it with Steph because, thankfully, her mom saved them both from humiliation. No one ever asked why he kept LD at arm’s length at the graduation dance in grade nine, because that was grade nine and it was still kind of normal then. But now? He had Heather basically lying on top of him. How’s he going to excuse that?

So of course things get even worse when Snake slams open the door and crashes next to him, laughing like a maniac, making some kind of dumbass joke like _hur hur, it was getting pretty hot out here, wasn’t it?_ Something like that. Wheels is busy trying to ignore everything around him, but whenever Snake’s there, everything gets a little harder to ignore. Snake puts his arm around him _(and Joey would too if he was here, so don’t read into it, Wheels)_ and it’s so heavy across his shoulders that he has to shrug his arm off. He stands up and tries to walk away.

Like always, Snake has to follow. Great. “Hey, where’re you going?” he calls, and follows after him.

“Home.”

“All tired out, eh?” Snake cackles. Everything’s just so hilarious to him.

“Right. Sure, Snake.” He doesn’t look at him. Even at this point, when he couldn’t possibly make this worse than it already is, he can’t look at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Oh, nope, he was wrong. It did get worse, because now he’s thinking about how Snake’s always been looking out for them both, always wondering what’s wrong, always making sure that he and Joey don’t kill each other or whatever else. Great. Fucking perfect.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just… I didn’t want to kiss her.” Even to himself, he sounds stupid. _She didn’t_ force _you_ , he thinks. Which is true, even if it’s meaningless.

Snake shrugs. “Well, you looked like you were into it.”

“What, were you staring?” he asks.

“No! I’m not a creep!”

Wheels doesn’t know what the hell it’d mean if Snake said, _oh yeah, I was totally watching you get felt up by Heather Farrell,_ and yet he can’t help being just a little hurt at Snake’s rush to deny it. He shoves past him as they walk out the back way through Heather’s yard.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with making out. Heather’s cute,” Snake continues. “Or Erica’s cute, anyway— I was dancing with her inside. I guess if they’re identical twins, that makes sense—”

“Shut up, Snake.”

“What? Don’t you think Heather’s cute?”

He hesitates a little before he replies, but there’s no way he’ll risk Snake picking up on that, so Wheels says the first stupid thing that comes to mind. “I don’t know, I guess, but I just don’t like her like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her.”

If only the problem was on her end. “Did I say there was?” he says, his voice covered in contempt.

Snake doesn’t back off, but he steps back a little, like he’s looking at an optical illusion. “Well, geez, don’t snap at me. I’m just wondering what’s up.”

“Nothing’s up, okay? Just because I don’t want to go out with Heather doesn’t mean something’s up!” Wheels can feel himself getting flushed again, so it’s a good thing it’s dark. No one can tell.

Snake puts his hand on his shoulder again and it feels like it’s on fire. Wheels snaps back. “Look, Wheels, if you don’t want to go out with her, that’s fine, but— ”

“Stop touching me.”

“Just tell me why you’re being weird.” Snake shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “Aren’t we friends?”

They are, but it’d be better if they weren’t. If they weren’t, maybe things would be different, and he would have made out with Heather without feeling like something was just _off_. He doesn’t say anything before he starts to walk away.

Snake grabs him by the back of the shirt, and maybe any other time that’d be okay, but right now he can’t handle it. “Come on, I bet you’d tell Joey.”

“Joey doesn’t have anything to do with it, okay? It’s not about Joey, or Heather, or anybody!” For the third time he tries to walk away, but it still doesn’t work. He’s still glued to the ground.

“Is it about me?” 

He lies so much that he should be able to do it instantly now, but it always takes him half a second too long. “No. It’s just me.”

“But you’d tell Joey.”

Because Snake knows everything about how friendships work, especially when shit like this gets thrown in. “No, I wouldn’t! Now stop bugging me!”

“Well, you’re gonna have to tell Heather why.”

Another mention of Heather and he snaps. “You know what, Snake? You’re right! I’ll just call her up and say, ‘Sorry I can’t go out— I’m just not into girls!’” 

The words fall to the ground in front of them. Good that they’re sticking around. The only other words going through Wheels’ head right now are _I am so fucked._

Snake glances around. They’re in the yard, a good few feet away from the house, and no one else is around back. It’s quiet, but not quiet enough.

A minute passes, and Wheels is still _so fucked._

“What do you mean, ‘not into girls’?” Snake asks carefully. He doesn’t look nearly as pissed off as Wheels would have thought. But then again, if he had to say it some time, at least it was here and not with Joey prompting him with something like _were you just checking him out at rehearsal?_ Joey didn’t even come to the party. Small favors.

“What do you _think_ I mean?” he says, trying to sound angrier than he is. Hell, if Snake has to find out, Wheels might as well go all in and scream it at him. A little bravado might cover him now and scare Snake away.

Snake stumbles over his words a little. “Well, I don’t know. I haven’t really dated that many girls either, you know, and that’s all right. Everybody’s inexperienced at some point.”

“Oh, come off it,” Wheels says, glaring up at him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Snake looks like he’s trying to say something, but whatever it is, it’s not working.

“I’m going home,” Wheels says. If it were Joey, even, or anyone else, he might be able to add a _Tell anyone and I’ll kill you._ But Snake knows now, and that was the most important thing. He was the one person who couldn’t know, and now he knows. If— or when— it gets out, everyone else will hang him out to dry anyway. Best case scenario, that’s what’ll happen. Anyway, he can’t even threaten to beat up Snake, and they both know it. Joey and he have gotten into some knock-down, drag-out fights before, but not with Snake. Never with Snake.

He’s starting to walk home when he hears the best thing Snake could realistically say: “It’s not the end of the world.”

Wheels still doesn’t look at him. “It kind of is.”

“I mean…” Snake’s still stumbling over his words. “I thought you were going to tell me you were a terrorist or you had AIDS or something.” Wheels predicts the next question, but Snake still asks, “You don’t, though, right?”

He pours on the sarcasm. “Yeah, I got AIDS shooting up heroin.”

“Well, I don’t know. If you’re…”

“That’s not how it _works_ ,” he says, as if he’s supposed to know how it works. How anything works.

“I know how it works!” It’s getting quieter now. The party is cooling off. “My brother— ”

“What, your brother’s a junkie?”

“No, he's gay.”

The word sinks in. “Don't call me that,” Wheels mumbles.

“Well, you don’t like girls. What do you think that makes you?”

Wheels stands there, trying to think how to explain that putting a word to sleepless nights and locker-room conversation would make it permanent. Putting a word on it would make it real. “I know what it makes me,” he says instead. “You don’t have to say it.”

Snake runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re just confused, then. I don’t know.”

 _Yeah, I wish._ Wheels just shrugs.

“My brother,” Snake starts again, and for a minute Wheels thinks they’ll be stuck on this point for the rest of the night. “He told us he was gay back in February. And that was pretty confusing.”

All things considered, Snake’s taking things well. Joey would laugh it off, say, _c’mon, man, we’ll find you some chick to get your motor running and you’ll snap out of it._ Either that or _go to hell, freak._ Could go either way, really.

“What’s there to be confused about?” Wheels asks. He’s a bit calmer now. Snake isn’t going to beat him up or make a billboard telling the whole world.

“I don’t know. He told me I wasn’t going to be... like that— and I don’t know, I don’t think I am— but you know, it was really weird for a while.”

“Snake, man,” Wheels says, “You’re not gay. I saw the way you were looking at Melanie.” That’s all he says. He doesn’t add _and it fucking hurt,_ but it crosses his mind.

Snake stoops down conspiratorially, as if he could have an even bigger secret, somehow. “I never even kissed Melanie.”

“You went out for months!”

“Off and on,” Snake says, like that’s an answer. He shrugs one shoulder. “I couldn’t do it. Didn’t know how.”

They stand in the silence for a while as Wheels tries to pick apart what Snake told him. Maybe there’s no greater significance and Snake just has about as much game as a pile of dirty laundry. Or maybe it means something.

Either way, standing around in the Farrells’ yard isn’t going to get that question answered. “Don’t tell Joey,” Wheels says as they start to walk toward the street for the fourth or fifth time that night. “Seriously. _Don’t_ tell him.”

Snake gawks at him. “Joey doesn’t know?”

“Of course Joey doesn’t know.” Of course. It sounds so smooth, so easy, as if it’s not such a massive change from the way things have always been. Of course Joey doesn’t know, even though Joey knows everything else there is to know about him. Wheels looks away again and for a minute he feels like he’s a little kid sitting in the principal’s office. Then again, he never had this problem when he was a little kid. There wasn’t anything he would have had to preface with _don’t tell Joey_ because everything used to be okay to tell.

Joey should know, and he would be able to tell if he wasn’t so clueless all the time. There have been some pretty close calls before. _Hey, Wheels, your walls are kind of sad. We need some pinups in here._ Or, _You can’t just tell us you like blonds and leave it at that, man! Give us some details!_ Little things like that, little moments that everyone else could shrug off. But no, Joey can’t tell. If he could, everyone would know, because Joey wouldn’t keep his mouth shut for ten seconds. The realization stung when he figured it out, some time in grade eight. He can’t even trust his best friend with something like that.

After all this, after Wheels spilled his guts and said all this personal stuff, Snake still can’t find his words right away. He has to grab around for them. “Sure, I’ll keep quiet,” he says. “But, I mean, if you want to tell him—”

“I don’t.”

“Okay, but,” Snake says, lagging a little behind him despite his longer legs, “if you ever do, I’ll back you up.”

“Why?” Wheels has to ask, even though he knows it’s just going to get his hopes up for no reason.

“I don’t know,” Snake says, and Wheels knows it’s the truth. He doesn’t have a clue what to do. Neither of them do. “We’ve been friends for a long time, even if it is... weird. Joey can’t flip out on both of us. If I was there, that might help you out.”

Wheels looks up at him, and for a second, things are good enough. Not perfect, and not great, but Snake’s there, and that’s good enough. “We’re still friends?”

“Yeah, we’re still friends,” he says. For the first time since Wheels dropped the bomb, Snake cracks a smile. A weak, awkward, nice little smile.

And, of course, because he’s fucking stupid and he always has to push his luck, Wheels asks, “Hey, uh, do you maybe want to go get some fries tomorrow? No school, you know. We can talk about... whatever.”

He nods slowly. “I’ve got homework. Is it cool if I bring it along?” For the first time, Snake looks like he understands, really, what’s going on. And if he does understand, then maybe it means something that he’s accepting the invitation.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I just figured maybe—” Maybe he’d want to talk about tonight. Or maybe he’ll pretend like nothing ever happened.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you need a break from studying your ass off all the time.” He smiles.

Snake looks unconvinced. “Well, in that case, let’s invite Joey. No one ever studies around Joey.”

He tries to play it cool. “Uh, I guess—”

“I’m kidding,” Snake says. “Trust me, I’ve had enough Joey exposure for the week already. If I have to hear about how awesome the video came out one more time, I’m going to smack him in the face with Lucy’s camera.”

For Wheels, the party’s over and the air is cold, but for now, at least, things aren’t horrible. He’ll have to call Heather, and he’ll have to cut out a big chunk of his reasoning behind not wanting to go out. And with Snake, things aren’t quite steady, not even a steady friendship like it was. But even still, maybe things are going to be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

Snake wakes up the next day with the distinct feeling of being hungover. Which is weird, because he doesn't remember drinking. Maybe he did— it would explain the headache, the disorientation, and the vague sense of impending doom, all of which are bearing down on him as he sits up in bed. Then again, his parents would've known if he'd been drinking, and he doesn't remember any kind of argument between the three of them. He even made it back before curfew.

No, as he slowly moves to pull some clothes out of the hamper, he recognizes the stink of a nervous sweat on his sheets. How late was he up last night? 

“How was the party?" he remembers Mom asking as he came in the front door. 

“Fine. Boring." Had he stuttered? She must have known he was lying. "I'm going to bed."

She couldn't have been convinced, but there he'd stood, no smell of alcohol on his breath, no lipstick on his collar. Always the dutiful son. 

But he barely got any sleep. Sure, he was in bed by eleven-fifteen— the quicker he went to bed, the less chance he could be intercepted and interrogated. But he was definitely awake until at least one in the morning with his thoughts racing. Apparently, he was sweating through his sheets too. Gross.

 _What are you worried about?_ he thinks as he heads for the shower. _You didn't do anything wrong._

As he stands under the water, just him and his thoughts, he can almost believe it. It's not his fault Wheels spilled his guts to him, is it? They've been friends for a long time, and honestly, he can even understand keeping it from Joey. It's not like the guy's known for his sensitivity, after all. If he were in Wheels' place—

 _You wouldn't be in Wheels' place,_ he thinks reflexively. _You would never be within a hundred miles of Wheels' place, because Wheels is gay._

Why does this keep happening to him? Maybe he has something on his back, like an invisible “kick me” sign. It’d say something along the lines of, “Gays of the World, Tell Me Your Woes.” (He laughs at his own joke.) 

At least with Glen, it made more sense. He didn't have any kind of ulterior motive, no personal baggage to unload. He was only confiding in him brother-to-brother. And Glen was so self-assured— nervous, but confident, sure that what he was saying was true. 

Wheels, he'd had to pry it out of him, put words in his mouth. Hell, maybe he's not gay. Who knows? But then again, isn't that the kind of accusation you'd fight if it weren't true? Snake nearly punched BLT over it once, almost a year ago now. Sure, he wouldn't do that now, but Wheels has always been so hot-blooded; he would have punched Snake if he felt slighted. _So yeah, he's probably gay._ God, that's heavy. What does that mean? Glen's the same guy he's always been, as far as Snake can tell. 

Then again, their phone calls have been brief. At best.

He lets the water run over his hair until it turns cold.

By the time he gets out of the shower, it's nearly lunchtime. Shit. Lunchtime. And Wheels wanted fries. The sickly feeling floods his stomach again, thick and sludgy, and with it comes a healthy serving of guilt. He should be happy to see Wheels again, especially in a calmer setting. No music, no pressure, and no Heather. But no Joey either— that was his genius idea. Maybe it'll be better for them, though, in case Wheels wants relative privacy to talk. At the very least, Joey won't be stealing all their fries. 

The diner is the same as it’s always been: vaguely stuffy, smelling like grease, vinyl booths torn-up and graffiti’d. The jukebox is blasting some terrible synth pop he can’t recognize offhand. Wheels is late as usual, he notes with a smirk, so Snake picks a booth in the back and tosses his backpack next to him. It's loaded up with homework, but between the sleep deprivation and the upset stomach, it’s impossible to focus. On second thought, he decides to pick up a Sprite and an order of curly fries. Wheels always gets curly fries. 

Wheels arrives after fifteen minutes or so with nothing in his hands but a Walkman. He crashes into the opposite seat with all the grace of a baby elephant. “Oh, you got curly fries. I thought you like the regular ones better.”

“They’re fine. I figured we could split them.” Or what’s left of them. As he looks down at the tray, Snake realizes he’s been absently eating through the pile for the last few minutes. 

Wheels gives him a funny look and digs in his pocket. “I’ve got a dollar in here somewhere.”

“It’s fine. You can spot me at lunch sometime.” 

“Seriously. I have a dollar.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and flings a handful of quarters across the table. Then with the other hand he scoops half the fries toward himself, cutting a wide swath of blue plastic between them. 

Snake scowls back at him. “Wow, thanks. I love it when my fries taste like coins.”

“You’re welcome.”

Great, Wheels is in a pissy mood. It must be a day ending in Y. “What’s your problem? Half the time you’re too broke to buy your own anyway.”

Wheels just shrugs one shoulder and shoves some fries into his mouth. 

_Guess someone’s grandma tore him a new one last night._ Hopefully, anyway. Otherwise he’s just being a jerk again. Who turns down free food? Snake’s paid for them both before plenty of times, just because it’s easiest to go up the counter with one order. And what’s up with the germaphobe routine? Forget about eating from the same fry pile, they’ve drank after each other a few times, and that was never a big deal. 

“I thought you said we were still friends,” Snake says, lowering his voice. 

Wheels stares him in the eyes sullenly, but his voice sounds remarkably even when he replies, “Yeah, of course. So what?”

“So friends don’t flip out on each other when they do a favor.”

“A favor. Yeah, right.” 

Damn, Snake might as well have stayed home. He pulls his trig textbook out of his bag and slams it on the table. Cosines can’t be worse than this pissing contest, or whatever it is that Wheels is trying to pull. Snake wades through the paragraphs as the jukebox warbles on. 

The music drills into Snake’s ears. It’s like being on an endless elevator. Finally, Wheels decides to get them out of pop music purgatory. “Look, Snake, I didn’t ask about fries because... you know, because of the Heather thing. I don’t— I just want to forget it.”

“I didn’t even bring up ‘the Heather thing,’" he replies, sounding a bit snippy even to himself. "If you don't want to talk about it, then stop being all weird."

“Stop treating me weird, buddy.”

“ _I’m_ treating _you_ weird?! I’m not the one who flipped out at free food!”

“It’s not about the food!”

Silence. Wheels glances around and lowers his voice, but the venom only intensifies. “Look. I’m still the same guy. I didn’t— I didn’t change or anything last night. And I don’t need you paying for shit like I’m little Melanie Brodie, okay?”

"Oh, come on. What's Melanie got to do with this?"

"I can pay for my own damn food." He scowls at the fries. "I'm still a _guy._ "

Snake blinks. Maybe Wheels is on drugs after all. That would explain a lot of things, honestly. "It's not a 'guy-girl' thing. Joey owes me, like, fifteen bucks."

"Yeah, right." Wheels doesn't meet his eye. He's glaring at the tray.

"Look," Snake says with a sigh. "Do you want to talk about yesterday or not?" 

Wheels plays with a ketchup packet, rolling it between his fingers like a homemade cigarette. His eyes soften a bit. He doesn’t look up.

Finally, Wheels asks, "What's the textbook for?"

So Wheels doesn't want to talk. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe, Snake supposes, he's made Wheels say too much this weekend already. How should he know, really? What does he know about this kind of thing? He would never have kept asking Wheels last night if he knew it’d make him crawl up inside himself again.

Instead of pushing back, Snake replies, "It's just trig. Oh, did you hear?" he adds with mock spontaneity. "Last week's sub had his fly down _all class._ "

Wheels laughs— right now, it's almost a startling sound. But he still doesn’t look Snake in the eye. He’s hidden under the reflection of his glasses. "No way!"

"Yeah! Nobody had the heart to tell him."

Wheels grins and grabs a few fries. Thank God. 

As they leave the diner together, laughing and chatting about nothing in particular, Snake dimly realizes that they never really talked about Heather herself. They didn’t talk about Joey either. What have they been talking about for the last hour? It’s gone by so fast and so naturally, but there’s so much they haven’t said. Fleetingly, Snake thinks of _Jaws_ , of the still, clear water with a shark stirring underneath. 

If nothing else, someone should be thinking of Heather. Snake clears his throat. _Well, here goes nothing_. “Did you, uh... Are you going to call Heather or something?”

Wheels keeps walking, but he doesn’t look at him. “What for?” His voice sounds normal, but he’s gone a little pale. If Snake reached out and touched him, he’d probably feel cold and clammy like he just came in from the rain (not that he would touch him, of course, but if he did).

“Well, you can’t ignore her forever.” Even as he objects, Snake knows it’s a weak line. 

“I’m pretty good at ignoring stuff.”

“Sure, but that’s a pretty crappy thing to do.”

“Snake, come on. You know I can’t call her.” Wheels’ voice is low, but it’s getting harsher. The edge is sliding back in with every word. 

“You don’t have to tell her everything, just—“

“I can’t tell her anything!” Wheels glances around. Just in case. “I can’t tell anyone anything, okay?”

Despite his protests, Snake knows he’s right. “Well, I’m ‘anyone’. You can tell me— if you want,” he adds quickly.

“No, I can’t.” Wheels slogs through the fall leaves littering the sidewalk. The air is crisp. Snake is shivering in his windbreaker; Wheels must be even colder in his thin jean jacket. Snake should’ve brought an extra sweatshirt. “I’m fine. I’ve been handling it.”

Wheels always thinks he’s been handling it.

Before he can stop himself, Snake asks, “How long have you known?”

“Like two years,” he mumbles. 

Two whole years. What’s it like having to deal with that knowledge alone for two years? To go to every school dance, every party, knowing you had something you had to hide from everyone there? Wheels has always been a pretty solitary guy, but two years ago things were so different for both of them. Hell, his parents were alive then. And they would never have known. Even when he had them, he had no one. Snake feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. 

And two years ago, no one knew about Glen either. If Wheels had confided in him then… Snake feels a rush of shame remembering all the things he said to his own brother less than a year ago, things he would never say now. How could he? But he did say those things, callous things he can never take back. With Wheels it would have been even worse, he knows without a doubt, no matter how much he wishes that it weren’t that way, that Wheels never really had to be alone. 

Snake almost says: _Wheels, man, I’m sorry. I’m your friend— I should have been there to help you._ Or, _I told you I’d back you up with Joey and I mean it._ Or, _I wouldn’t have made stupid gay jokes if I knew_. Or most of all, _You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone._

But he doesn’t say that. All he says is, “That really sucks.”

Wheels looks up at him, and for a moment it’s like he’s said it all anyway. 


	3. Chapter 3

Monday. Doomsday, but not for the usual reason. Wheels ghosts past Heather’s locker, quickly, quietly, like he’s slipping out of Grandma’s in the middle of the night. Hiding from himself. No one will notice. French and Algebra 2 are fine. History is a close call, but he sits in the very back row.

No, he’s undone by the passing period. And Snake, as always. Snake’s hanging at his locker. He waves, and suddenly Wheels is over there, like a sleepwalker, without thinking at all. What are they even talking about? As soon as Wheels says anything, it falls out of his brain immediately. And when a thought falls out, self-consciousness elbows its way in to take its place. After Saturday night’s party, he’s never been so aware of his pimples or the stains on his white button-downs. But he stuffs all those worries into a little box in the back of his mind.

He’s not really listening to what Snake’s saying either, if he’s honest with himself (which he’s not in the business of being). It’s mostly nice just being around him, watching the way he moves his hands when he gets excited and how his eyes light up when he’s smiling. But then Wheels’ brain turns back on and he coughs and pretends he wasn’t thinking about much of anything.

As soon as they turn down the hallway, Wheels jolts awake. Heather and Erica are staring at him, both of them. Heather looks a little dazed, smiling placidly, while Erica is trying to melt a hole in his face with her laser vision. He freezes for a second— just a second— before his instincts override his sense of decency. Fuck her feelings. Better her heart gets broken than his jaw.

“Hi, Wheels,” Heather says, vaguely breathless. She clutches her textbooks closer to her chest and beams.

He raises his eyebrows and smiles, tight-lipped, without his eyes changing. “Hey.” Then he takes a long, lukewarm drink of water from the fountain. He stares into his reflection in the flat gray metal.

Heather looms, waiting, but then she shuffles off. Erica leans over and whispers, “You creep!” before rushing to her sister’s side. Whatever.

He stands up and wipes his mouth. Crisis averted.

“You didn’t call her.”

Snake’s still standing there, dangerously close to him. He sounds so disappointed, but not the way Grandma does, red and steaming and shrieking about Children’s Aid. Snake stands with his hands hanging limply by his sides, his face fairly slack, stupefied. 

Wheels shrugs and bites back the desire to redeem himself. “What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. Anything would’ve been better than that.”

“Yeah? What would you have told her?”

Snake looks like he’s waiting for the earth to swallow him up. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, like a slowly-leaking balloon. The radiators in the hallway have been turned on in anticipation of winter; the air is thick and heavy and smells like rust. It’s choking him. Wheels holds his breath, but the silence remains. 

He turns his back and heads to Chemistry.

* * *

Lunch is not a reprieve. “Dude!” Joey calls as he gets out of the lunch line, loud enough for the whole quad to hear. “I heard you got lucky on Saturday!” He nearly splashes Snake with his mashed potatoes in the rush to sit down.

Snake makes a face. “Classy, Joey.”

“I didn’t get lucky. It was like second base at most. Like, first and a half.” Wheels picks at his sandwich. Bologna again. Hooray.

“Which one is second again?” Snake asks no one in particular.

“Well, Snake, when a guy and a girl love each other very much…” Joey starts in a syrupy-sweet tone, earning him a smack.

“Whatever, it’s not important.” 

Joey’s still leering over his tepid lunchroom meatloaf. “So how come you’re not sitting with Heather?”

“He didn’t call her.”

Joey gasps mockingly. “Stone cold, man.”

He shrugs and puts on his cockiest grin— channeling his inner Joey, really. He’s never been great at that, but he’s attempted it so often that the smirk comes readily now. “What can I say? I’m a player.” 

“Keep telling yourself that,” Snake scoffs.

Ouch. Wheels shoves that comment into the little box too. It rots in the back of his mind.

He's halfway through his sandwich when he notices Joey staring off into space. "What're you staring at?"

Joey sits with his head in his hands and sighs.

Wheels glances behind him. Caitlin's sitting across from that dork with the suspenders. She's giggling, and probably not at his pathetic mustache.

"Is she really still going out with that loser?" Snake asks.

"Yep.”

"Aw, c'mon, Joey, you just need to get your mind off of things," Wheels says. Poor guy. The mighty Joey Jeremiah brought to his knees by a girl. "Weren't you, me, and your dad supposed to go driving tonight?"

"Oh, yeah." Joey smiles faintly. "You mean _you're_ going driving."

"Hey, it's not my fault he doesn't trust you behind the wheel. We'll take you up to a parking lot or something, buddy." Wheels grins, sincerely this time. Joey laughs, and out of the corner of his eye, Wheels sees Snake crack a tiny smile.

* * *

Though the school day crawls along at a snail’s pace, Wheels finally manages to escape. He lags behind Snake a little on their way out of English like usual.

"What's taking him so long?" Snake leans back against the handrail of the steps.

Wheels shrugs. The sun is out, and it’s nice to be outside in the fresh cool air together. If he lets himself, he can imagine the two of them lying in the grass of the schoolyard side-by-side, without Grandma or Joey or God knows who else breathing down their necks—but only _if_. For now he just enjoys the sun. For now, that’s enough.

Caitlin bounds out of the front door hand-in-hand with Suspenders Guy— what’s his name, Claude? “Three, two, one…” Snake mutters. 

It’s not within three seconds, but sure enough, Joey wanders out like a hapless puppy. “Knew it.” Snake snickers. 

“Hey!” Joey flashes them a thumbs-up. “Who’s ready to go driving?”

“I wish my parents would let me drive,” Snake says. “They said I have to wait until I take driver’s ed.”

Joey shrugs. “What can I say? My dad’s cool about that kind of stuff.”

As they start to walk home, Wheels asks, “What are you so excited about? You can barely pull out of the driveway.”

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Big Shot. Gonna lord it over us once you turn sixteen?”

“Nah, I’ll have to get a car first. If you guys are nice, I might even drive you around.” 

Snake puts on a falsetto. “But, Wheels, how can he impress Caitlin if he has to bum a ride off of you?”

Joey laughs sarcastically. “I’m getting over her, guys. It’s just taking a while.”

Snake and Wheels exchange a glance. “ _Riiiiiight_.” Snake punches him in the arm gently.

He’d never admit it to either of them, but it’s hard for Wheels to hold it against him. Joey and Caitlin were joined at the hip for most of last year and all through the summer. They practically turned into one word, Joey-and-Caitlin, always a unit. The sucker was totally hypnotized. It was just barely too sweet to be nauseating, though Joey definitely walked that tightrope.

And God knows Wheels doesn't have any room to talk about getting over impossible crushes, no matter how hard he tries. So he puts up with Joey’s babbling about girls. It’s the least he can do.

Snake lives closest to the school, so they reach his house first. That’s always a bummer, but at least he can breathe more easily knowing Joey's the same as he's always been. 

The rest of the walk is like any other. Without really thinking about it, he remembers walking to Joey's on a fall day like today, eight years ago— not the first time he'd been to Joey's, but one of the first, back when they were young enough to jump into every pile of leaves they came across. Back when friendships were simple and fluid, built on nothing more than sharing a favorite TV show, completely transparent. 

Wheels may be different, but Joey’s always just been Joey. And sometimes that’s a great thing.

* * *

"Okay, now slowly, _slowly_ , take your foot off the clutch."

Slowly....

_Slowly..._

The _stupid fucking piece-of-shit car_ sputters to a halt under Wheels' feet _again._ Mr. Jeremiah lurches forward in the shotgun seat and stifles a grimace. "That's all right, Derek, it just takes practice. Let's give it one more try, okay?"

" _Come on, Joey, I totally know how to drive,_ " Joey calls from the backseat, doing a pretty lame impression of Wheels’ voice. In the rear-view mirror, Wheels catches a glimpse of his smirk. " _I just have to burn out the clutch first._ "

"Well, I didn't know your dad was gonna make me start this thing on a f—friggin' hill." He grits his teeth. 

"You'll have to learn sometime," Mr. Jeremiah replies, unfazed. "Push the clutch in and let's try it again."

Joey laughs. "Seventh time's the charm!"

Wheels yanks on the handbrake. "Joey, if you don't shut up, you're getting out and pushing." Next to him, Mr. Jeremiah laughs softly through his nose.

Okay. He gives the car a tiny bit of gas. Now for the clutch. _Slowly, gently, carefully,_ he lifts his foot off the clutch...

The monstrosity of a car finally decides to cooperate with him and they inch their way up the hill. Joey cackles triumphantly. "See? I knew you could do it!"

Wheels laughs. "Sure you did, Joey."

"Okay, let's head down to First Methodist so you guys can practice parking. You know where it is, right?" 

Not really, but who cares? It's great to be driving, to have finally gotten this damn boat under his command. If it weren't Mr. Jeremiah's car, if he could be alone, he'd roll the windows down and feel the wind in his hair. It's five o' clock; the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, the last signs of daylight. He flips the headlights on. One day, this will all be in the palm of his hand— the wind, the sunset, the stars. And most of all, the freedom of having a car, of being able to go anywhere. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter and smiles.

"Okay, well, you missed the turn there, buddy," Mr. Jeremiah cuts in. "Circle around up here." From the back, Joey cracks up.

In the parking lot, Wheels reluctantly climbs out of the driver's seat. "Yeah, yeah," he says as Joey nearly shoves him out of the car. "Hey, what's the rush? Aren't you taking driver's ed next semester with Snake?"

"Only if his grades stay up. Now you're aiming for the space on the end, Joey." Mr. Jeremiah points as Joey buckles his seatbelt.

“Can you blame a guy for being eager? And I’m already sixteen, so I’ve got catching up to do.” 

“I took the driver’s test—”

“—five times before you passed it, yeah, I know, Dad.” Joey bumps over the curb. “Maybe I should’ve driven with Mom.” 

Wheels stretches out out in the backseat and half-listens. Briefly he considers taking his shoes off and napping back there, but Joey’s erratic stops and starts jolt him out of his thoughts. He’s not _horrible,_ but the guy’s got a lead foot. It’s like driving with Grandma, only twice as fast. On the whole, though, it’s not too bad. He doesn’t get motion sickness, and Mr. Jeremiah is a good driver’s ed teacher. 

He remembers his first lesson with Grandma, how she nearly had a heart attack every time he turned a corner or edged near the speed limit. _Dude, what are you practicing with her for?_ Joey asked, like it was a question with a real answer: _Oh, man, you’re right, I should be driving with my paraplegic grandpa, or maybe just take the car out alone._ But sure enough, Mr. Jeremiah picked them both up from school the next day to practice, no questions asked, no thank-yous required. It was just a very Joey way to handle it. Words have always been superfluous with them.

As Joey backs out again for what feels like his seventeenth try at parking between the lines, he looks over his shoulder at Wheels and asks, “So what was all that about with Heather, anyway?”

He would pay a hundred dollars to never hear about Heather Farrell again. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he says, forcing a smile even as the intended sarcasm evaporates from his voice.

“Please don’t.” He can practically hear Mr. Jeremiah rolling his eyes. 

Joey sounds breezy as always. “Sure, sure. Hey, did I tell you I called a couple TV stations yesterday? I’m gonna drop the tape off tomorrow during lunch.”

 _Oh, thank God, he’s talking about the video again._ It’s a thought as foreign to him as _Gee whiz, I can’t wait to get a root canal!_ He really is losing his mind. 

“That’s great,” he says with warmed-over enthusiasm. “Did you cut everything together yourself?”

“Nah, I asked Caitlin to do it. She did all that photography stuff in junior high.”

Of course. All roads lead to Caitlin. "C'mon, man. You have to get over her."

"Right now, you have to keep your eyes on the lines, Joey—"

"Well, I think I have a real shot. Have you seen that Claude guy? I mean, come on!" The car shambles forward.

"—okay, you're on the line, so back out and try again—"

"She says we're just not 'compatible' anymore. I mean, what's up with that? I can be political! I'll go protest stuff!"

“There’s plenty of girls out there. You don’t need to keep being stuck on Caitlin.”

“Give me a break. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

Joey jerks the car forward again. For a second, there’s only the sound of the engine grumbling.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he finally sputters. 

“I’m saying you don’t know what you’re talking about, man. You don’t know anything about love.” 

“—you know, much as I’m enjoying this conversation,” Mr. Jeremiah intones, “I think we’d better focus on parking.”

* * *

The next day, things fall back into their old rhythm for the first time. Or maybe Wheels is just getting used to the knot in his stomach that refuses to go away. When his worries start to subside, school expands to fill the space they leave behind.

Thursday at lunch he’s sitting out on the quad again, headphones on, sun out. It’s the perfect environment to zone out in. Theoretically it would also be a good environment to study in, if there were such a thing. But his textbooks sit in his backpack. Wheels isn’t going to spoil this with math.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Wheels nearly jumps out of his skin. “Sh—” He jerks his head up. Snake’s standing over him. “You startled me.”

Snake sits next to him, alarmingly close. “Sorry, I said your name and you didn’t hear me.” He reaches over and pulls one of Wheels’ earphones away from his head. “You’re gonna blow your ears out. What _is_ that?”

 _Stop touching me_ and _move over_ are sitting on the edge of his tongue, but Snake is less than a hand’s width away from him and he’s apparently lost his fucking mind completely. So he clears his throat and says, “Uh, Metallica.” 

“Oh, cool. I didn’t know you were into _metal-_ metal.”

“Yeah, I got a bunch of tapes real cheap awhile back.” He pulls the headphones down around his neck. The guitar keeps blasting through the cheap tinny speakers.

“Nice.” Snake offers him one of his unreadable smiles. “Do you have any Maiden? I’ve got some stuff you can borrow if you want.”

“Cool.” He stares a hole into the table.

Snake cocks his head. “You feeling okay? You seem a little out of it.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine, I just didn’t sleep great.”

“You sure?” 

_No, because you’re sitting too damn close to me and I don’t know why and not knowing what you’re thinking is driving me totally crazy—_ “Yeah, don’t worry.” 

Snake shrugs. He reaches over and plucks the headphones from around Wheels’ neck. “Hey!” 

“Oh, sorry. You mind? I want a listen.”

He can feel every hair on his neck that Snake accidentally touched. “Go ahead.”

Snake pops them on, the orange foam nearly blending in with his hair. He leans forward, elbows on the lunch table, chin in his hands. Snake’s eyes always go a little glazed when he’s thinking really hard about something, like he’s looking into the far distance. Teachers got on his case about it sometimes, thinking he wasn’t paying attention, but he’s at his most focused when he looks a little spacey. 

Wheels scoots away from him by a few inches. He looks back at the table. That way, nobody can catch him staring at Snake staring into space.

“You could probably do this bass part,” Snake says, shattering the silence that, Wheels realizes, wasn’t really there. The quad is as loud as ever. He just couldn’t hear it. 

He coughs and sits up a little straighter. “You think so?”

“Sure, why not? It’s not too fast, and you’re really good.” Snake pops the headphones off and hands them back to him. “Don’t look now, but here comes Joey.”

Sure enough, there’s Joey, charging at them from across the grass. “Hey, guys! Our video’s gonna be on TV!” He sprawls out across the table from them. “Mark your calendars. Monday, eight-thirty. I’m taping it at my house.”

“Nice!” There’s a round of high-fives. 

Snake cuts in. “Joey, nobody’s gonna watch our music video.”

“Sure they will,” Wheels says. Joey’s enthusiasm is nothing if not infectious. “Producers probably watch stuff like that all the time to find local talent.” 

“Calling us ‘local talent’ is pretty generous.” Snake smirks. 

“Who cares? Let’s celebrate!” 

“Yeah, let’s go see a movie.” Wheels glances over at Snake, scanning for any hint of a reaction.

“ _Bor-ing._ ” Joey’s got that devious look in his eye, the one that’s almost always followed up with _Trust me, this time everything’ll be fine, I swear._ “This is a once-in-a-lifetime achievement, guys. We need to celebrate with something extraordinary.” 

He reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it with a flick of the wrist like a bullfighter unfurling a cape. He hands it to Snake.

It’s a screaming-orange flyer with a drawing of a half-naked woman plastered across the front. _Girls, girls, girls! Exotic dancers! Full nudity! This week only: half-price cover!_

“Go to a strip joint?” Snake says, coughing out a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? It’s half price, did you see?” He leans over and points.

“Joey, you have to be eighteen,” Wheels adds. 

“We’ve got fakes. Come _on,_ guys. There’s gonna be real-live naked women. _Totally naked._ ” God, he’s practically drooling. For better or worse, there’s the pre-Caitlin Joey they used to know. 

Snake doesn’t look at either of them. He stares intently at a spot over Joey’s right shoulder. “My grandparents are coming over for dinner tonight. It’s my mom’s birthday.” 

“What, since when?” Wheels blurts out. 

Snake shoots him a dirty look. “Since, like, fifty years ago, what do you think?” _Ask a stupid question, I guess._

“Well, happy birthday, Sharon,” Joey says casually. “We can go tomorrow. It says all week.” 

For a single frozen second, Snake glances down at Wheels and they lock eyes. “Sure,” Snake says, his voice toneless. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The word hangs over him, ready to fall. 

* * *

It’s Friday before Wheels knows it. Quickest schoolweek ever. Possible lies flash through his mind, but it’s not worth it. It’ll probably be fine. Just a waste of time— and hey, maybe the place will have good hot wings. 

Snake’s jittery as they stand in line outside the grimy club. He’s still avoiding eye contact, but both he and Joey have grins stuck to their faces as they chatter to each other. They haven’t noticed Wheels’ silence. Of course not. Why would they? He tags along behind them, watching them laugh at their private joke.

Can he really keep this act up for two hours, or however long this is supposed to last?

 _Doesn’t matter,_ he thinks. _You have to anyway._

The entryway is plastered with _Club Rat_ decals and more pictures of girls with their tops off— really trying to pound it into everyone’s head that there will be _naked women!!!_ here to see. Seems like overkill, but their clientele don’t have a lot of blood in their brains. Maybe they’d forget otherwise. It stinks of cigarette smoke in here, too, and with all the people packed inside, it’s disgustingly hot.

This bouncer looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Wheels sympathizes. “ID, gentlemen?” Joey digs through his pockets, so Wheels and Snake follow suit. This ID is so cheap that it’s practically made of cardboard, but the bouncer barely looks twice. “The three of you together, that’ll be thirty bucks.”

“ _Thirty bucks?”_ Joey shrieks. He yanks the flyer out of his pocket. “This says half price!”

“During the week. It’s Friday, so it’s ten bucks each.” The bouncer’s voice is flat. 

Joey stops in place. “Oh, well,” he stammers, “m-my associates and I, we’ll just get organized.” Wheels rolls his eyes. 

Joey herds the two of them into the back of the entryway, near the door. “Okay, how much do we have all together?” He holds out his hand.

Dutifully, Wheels hands over his six bucks. 

Eventually, Snake pulls out a twenty— he’s busy staring slack-jawed at every chick who walks by. Fucking wonderful. The cherry on top of this miserable experience. 

Joey pitches in his four measly dollars. “Isn’t that thirty? We’re good,” Snake says.

“No, there’s a drink minimum. That’s only enough for two people.” Joey sighs. “Okay, we’ll put the money in the hat,” he says, taking his fedora off. “Rock-paper-scissors.” 

Snake stands transfixed, gawking at some girl in a feather boa. 

“Snake!” Joey yells. “I said rock-paper-scissors, come on!”

“You know what, Joey?” Wheels snaps. “This is stupid. I’m going home. You two enjoy yourselves.”

“Wheels, come on,” Joey whines. “Rock-paper-scissors means you’ve got a shot.”

“ _I_ wanted to see a movie.” He glares at Joey. “And it reeks in here. My grandmother’s gonna kill me if I come home smelling like smoke.” 

Joey slumps a little, shrinking away from him. “All right, I guess Snake and me will go. We’ll tell you how it is, man.”

And through all that, Snake just stands there, gaping at him like a fish. Saying nothing. 

Wheels pushes the double-doors open and heads home.


	4. Chapter 4

"—all right, and same to you, buddy!" Joey shoves his hat back on as he stomps away from the club. He flips the bird but carefully keeps his hand out of the bouncer's line of sight. "What an asshole. We didn't even get our money back!"

"I told you! I _told_ you." Snake throws his hands up. "Who shares a Coke at a club?"

"When Cokes are four bucks each, who wouldn't?" Joey shrugs. "Whatever. We got to see Candi, right?" He deepens his voice. " _The stunning, the luscious, Candi Cupcakes, one night only!"_

"We were so far away, they could've sent that bouncer guy out on stage and I wouldn't have known the difference."

"Don't worry, we can always come back later. We know our fakes work now, right?"

"That's true. Maybe we can get into an R-rated movie."

"You wanna go see what's playing?" Joey pulls out the handful of change with a smirk. "We still have six bucks."

"Gimme that." Snake snatches it out of his hand. "That's Wheels' money."

"Hey, if he didn't want to play rock-paper-scissors, that's on him." Joey shuffles along, nonchalant as ever. As they round the corner, he adds, "Well, I guess you're right. He's been so weird lately, you know? He's so, like, touchy."

"He's _always_ touchy."

"Yeah, but you know what I mean, right? Like the whole Heather thing, he's all weird about it." Joey drags his feet through the gravel. "Hey, Shane was weird about that, too, after he and Spike…"

"What, you think Wheels knocked her up?" Snake snorts.

Joey doesn't laugh. For a guy so obsessed with sex, his knowledge of reproduction is remedial at best. "I don't know, did he?"

"No, genius. They didn't even go all the way. They made out, he ditched her, that's it." Maybe if he keeps saying it, it'll become true.

"Then why's he gotta be so weird about it?"

Snake shrugs. He bites the inside of his cheek.

"Well, whatever. I guess we can talk to him about it."

_Butt out, Joey_.

The thought startles him.

He takes a breath and says instead, "It's already almost eight o' clock. They're probably having dinner."

"Yeah, you're right. We can catch him tomorrow."

They reach Joey's house and split up from there. As Snake stands there, he pats his pocket. He's still got the six bucks.

No matter what Joey seems to think, there's no _we_ in any of this lately. It sucks, but it's true. Unless and until Wheels decides to spill to Joey and get him in the loop, he and he alone is the secret-keeper. In a twisted way, it's almost an honor— but in any case, it's a responsibility. He turns and heads to Wheels'.

* * *

Wheels' grandmother lets him in, and he heads upstairs as quietly as he can. The door is open a crack. From the hall, he can hear the muffled plucking of a bass, but he doesn't recognize the tune. He pushes the door open.

Wheels is sitting on his bed, back to the wall, bass in his lap. He pushes his palm against the bridge, cutting off the notes before they start. "Hey." He looks not quite at Snake, but through him, like his face is made of glass.

"Hey." Snake lingers in the hallway, half-in half-out of Wheels' room. "I've got your money."

Wheels sits for a minute, as if he didn't hear, before tilting his head to get him to come in. Snake shuts the door and sits on the floor, resting his back against Wheels' bed frame. He sets the money on the corner of the bed.

"Thanks," Wheels says, putting his bass on the floor. "I figured you spent it all."

"We got kicked out."

Wheels glances down at him over his glasses, impassive. The effect is bizarrely librarian-like. On another day, Snake could laugh.

"We were supposed to keep buying drinks but we were running out of money."

"That sucks." Wheels leans over and grabs the change. "You could've got another drink with this, probably."

It felt wrong spending that six bucks. In some tiny way, it would've made him a traitor. "Joey got us a table in the back. We could barely see anything anyway."

Wheels shrugs limply in reply. It's weird looking up at him for once, but Wheels isn't exactly reveling in the new height difference. He's barely moving. Snake slumps against the side of the bed.

He needs to cast out a line, some stupid small talk. Not about Joey or girls—something to bring Wheels out of this funk. "What were you playing when I came in?"

Wheels scoffs. "Look, what do you want?"

"Nothing! I just—"

What _does_ he want?

"I just felt bad that you were left out," he tries. It sounds stupid before it even comes out of his mouth.

"I don't care," Wheels mumbles. "I wanted to go to the movies."

"That's not what I meant."

Silence. Wheels puts his feet up on the bed and lies back, so Snake can't see him anymore. He mumbles something.

"What?"

"I said _I wish I never told you._ "

Wheels says it quietly, but the anger reverberates through the sparse room. "What am I supposed to do?" he snaps. Then, softer: "I'm really asking here."

Wheels is silent. He doesn't sit back up.

"I'm trying to be your friend."

It's so quiet he can hear Wheels breathing for a minute. "It's weird."

"What's weird?"

"You knowing."

"I swore I wouldn't tell anybody, didn't I? I didn't even tell Joey." Snake stretches his legs. Sitting against the bed frame isn't comfortable, but the bed is the only real piece of furniture in here. "Is that better, keeping it a secret?"

"No." He sighs. "I miss not _having_ a secret, you know? Like when we were kids."

"We didn't know each other when we were kids."

"You know what I mean." The frustration is creeping back into his voice, quiet but always present. "You're treating me different."

Snake does his best to swallow his annoyance. "If we were treating you different, we wouldn't have invited you out with us. We're treating you the same as—" He hesitates a little on the word, remembering Wheels' reaction, but plows ahead. "—as a straight guy."

Wheels is quiet for a minute. "I guess. I don't know. I keep thinking, like, you don't see me the same now." After a second, he adds, "It's like you don't really want to talk to me. We talk about music or whatever, but it's like something's gone."

He thinks of Wheels recoiling away from high-fives, flinching at nothing, unable to meet his eyes for the past who-knows-how-long, and says, "I think that's just you. _You've_ been acting different this week. Like if I sit next to you, you act like I've got some disease."

The blankets crinkle as Wheels shifts on the bed. He still doesn't sit up. Very quietly, he says, "Don't treat me different."

"I wouldn't. You're my friend." Snake picks at a hangnail. "I shouldn't have made you say it."

The statement hangs there, suspended between them almost visibly like a breath on a cold day. It's almost an apology. But not quite.

"It's okay," Wheels says after an eternity. "I could've lied if I really wanted."

Snake's hangnail starts to bleed. He watches the little droplet slide down his finger as his thoughts slowly congeal.

"To tell you the truth," he says finally, "I didn't really want to go either. I mean I like girls and all, but I felt weird checking girls out with Joey right there."

"You were checking them out while I was right there."

Was it that obvious? "Well, they walked right past me; I wasn't going to _not_ look. I mean, I'm still a _guy—"_

Shit. Wrong thing to say. He glances up at the bed, but Wheels hasn't moved. He's still lying back, his face impossible to read.

"I know you're a guy too," he stammers. "I wasn't trying to, like, imply anything about you not being a man or whatever—"

"Snake, just finish your thought," Wheels mutters.

"Well, you know, looking at hot girls is one thing. But Joey always wants to be, like, 'Oh, look at her ass, check out her legs,' whatever. And it's like, do we have to make a whole production out of it? Can't you just look at them and shut up about it?" He feels himself starting to blush. Open mouth, insert foot. "So I just didn't want to go with him, that's all."

"Yeah, he's always been like that." Finally, Wheels sits back up.

"How do you put up with it? Him being obsessed with girls and all— _I_ can barely stand it."

"He's my best friend." There's no malice, no rush to justify himself. No hiding from the truth. It's a fact of life.

Still, it's hard to hear. It shouldn't be, but it is.

And then, to make things worse, a sick little thought grabs him. "How do you…" He stops himself.

"What?"

"No, it's stupid."

Wheels shrugs. "I don't care."

"If you like guys…" His face gets hotter. "You don't… you don't _like_ Joey, right? I mean, if you do, that's— that's your business, but…."

"What? Ew!" Wheels' laugh is unexpectedly bright— it's almost teasing. "Are you serious?"

"Well, I didn't know! I mean, you said he's your best friend and all…" Snake laughs too, more out of relief than anything else. The image of Wheels pining after Joey for years, knowing he could never reciprocate, is poignant, and he's glad it's not true.

"Yeah, _friend._ It's different."

"What's the difference?" The bright red line between _best friend_ and _crush_ has always been clear to Snake— at the highest heights of their relationship, Melanie only reached the point of "best _girl_ friend"— but for a guy like Wheels, it seems like it could erode quickly and without warning. But then again, Dad's called Mom his best friend before, without qualification, so maybe something was just missing between him and Melanie in particular, and not guys and girls in general. He can't imagine having a girl as his best friend.

"What do you mean, what's the difference?"

Snake shakes the questions out of his mind. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Look. Let me show you something." Wheels clambers off the bed and sprawls out next to Snake. He holds out his hand, open like he's expecting a present.

"What am I looking at?"

Wheels pushes his hand forward. There's a thin scar stretching horizontally across his palm, faded almost white with age. Tentatively, Snake grabs his hand and runs his thumb across the line— it's flat. Barely noticeable. "What happened?"

He traces the scar a little, absentmindedly.

"Huh?" Wheels glances up.

"How'd you get that?"

"Oh, yeah. It's kind of a dumb story, but…" Wheels jerks his hand back. "Joey and me are blood brothers."

Snake sits and waits for the rest of the story.

"We were… I think I'd just turned ten. And we were in Cub Scouts together that year, so my dad got me a scout knife for Christmas. And then when I was showing him, Joey got this bright idea."

He imagines it like a memory: Joey somehow even shorter and springier, Wheels with a real smile, the two of them snickering and passing the knife between them. "Let me guess: 'Come on, Wheels, trust me.'"

"Exactly. And I was just a dumb kid, so I was like, 'sure, all right.' So we kind of—" He traces his scar with his opposite index finger. "—and shook on it. My mom was _pissed_. Joey needed three stitches."

"Jeez."

"Yeah." Wheels shifts a little, but he's not really moving away. "So it's… it's not like that with Joey. We're brothers, kinda. And you're different— it's different with you."

Snake sits, his hands cold, and knows he doesn't understand. How could he? He was never there. A dull pain, like an old bruise being pressed, radiates from his stomach, as he thinks of Joey-and-Wheels as a duo, the inseparable two, the pair who could never manage to let him in. The secret club he could never quite join. But he nods anyway. 

Snake's watch beeps. It's nine. Have they been talking for that long? "I should probably go home."

"You can sleep over if you want. Grandma won't care."

Finally, Wheels is looking at him straight-on, not avoiding eye contact. He's sitting half a foot away and teetering on the edge of a smile. _If we're not different,_ Snake imagines him saying, _then put your money where your mouth is._

"Sure, if she says it's fine," Snake replies. "I just have to call my mom."

Wheels goes to open the door and shouts down the stairs, " _Hey, Grandma, Snake's staying over tonight, okay?!"_

"Derek, don't _yell,"_ she calls back faintly. Wheels rolls his eyes.

One quick phone call later ("Of course you can stay out, dear, and thank you for calling") and they're slumped on the couch, a bag of popcorn between them, with some trashy horror movie flickering on the TV. _Friday the Thirteenth—_ the third or fourth one, he can't tell. Wheels is fun to watch horror movies with. He's a fan, but he always squirms at the goriest parts. It's hilarious seeing him so squeamish. Hard to imagine he could ever be half of some weird blood-brothers pact.

It's a marathon tonight, and they plan to watch the rest until the wee hours of the morning, but Wheels' grandma flips the light off around midnight. "Boys, it's getting quite late."

Wheels whines, "Aw, c'mon, Grandma, we've got it turned down."

"You can stay up if you want, but you'll have to go up to your room."

As they scurry back, he can understand why Wheels wouldn't want to hang out up here. The place is dungeon-esque. It's tiny, with barely anything in it besides Wheels' bed and a bunch of cardboard boxes. They're still labeled from when he moved in. Worst of all, the walls are bare.

"You should put some posters up," Snake says as Wheels digs under his bed. "It'd make it more like _your_ room."

Wheels re-emerges from under the bed with a cigar box. "Grandma's worried I'll mess up the paint." He pulls out a deck of cards. "Do you know how to play Gin Rummy?"

"No," Snake says.

"All right, I'll teach you. I tried to show Joey once, but he didn't really get it."

Snake doesn't really get it either, though not for lack of trying. Wheels lies on his stomach opposite him, trying to teach him by throwing around words like Knock and Gin. Snake feels like he'd rather have some real gin.

After what feels like a hundred turns, Snake sighs and says, "I give up. You win."

Wheels doesn't reply.

"Wheels? Hey, I said you won." Snake looks up from his hand.

Wheels is asleep on the floor, his face pressed into the carpet. His glasses are halfway pushed off his face. Gently, carefully, Snake pulls them off, folds them and sets them next to his head. He must really be out of it— that didn't disturb him at all.

Snake stands up, cracks his back, and checks his watch. Somehow, it's past one-thirty. He grabs the blankets off the bed and spreads one over Wheels. Should he grab a pillow? No, that would wake him up.

He grabs the top sheet for himself and turns out the lights.

* * *

He's awoken all too soon by his morning watch alarm. His head is pounding and he's sweaty again. (Is this going to be a nightly thing? Knowing his luck, it's probably cancer or something.)

Wheels is still asleep across the room from him. He must have rolled over during the night, because now he's flopped over on his side. The sun isn't quite up yet, but through the sliver of Wheels' window he can see the sky getting lighter, so it's not totally pitch-black anymore.

He looks… peaceful. Relaxed. Of course he is, he's asleep, but it's still striking. He doesn't have his eyebrows knitted together and his scowl is gone— actually, he's almost smiling. And it's strange seeing him without his glasses. His hair is falling into his face in a way that Snake knows would annoy him if he were awake.

Snake sits there for a second, blinking a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes. His eyes are fixed, not on Wheels exactly, but on the top of his head, on the point where his hair flops over. When Wheels breathes, his hair rustles.

_Why are you staring?_

The thought crawls up his back slowly, like a spider, leaving him shivering in its wake. Why is he staring?

"I'm not staring," he says under his breath. Just to hear it.

He gets up and ducks into the bathroom, where he splashes his face with cold water. When he comes back, Wheels is still asleep. Does his grandma have to get him up herself every morning? Without quite looking at him, Snake grabs his shoulder and shakes him awake.

"Hey!" Wheels grumbles. His voice is froggy with sleep. "It's like the middle of the night, what are you doing?"

"It's seven."

" _Seven o' clock?!_ Oh, my God, what's wrong with you?" Wheels rolls away from him. "Go back to bed, you lunatic."

"I can't now. My neck's all messed up from sleeping on the floor."

"Well, that was stupid. You could've had the bed."

Oh, right. He could have. Why didn't he think of that?

He doesn't have an answer, so he picks up the top sheet, folds it, and sets it on the bed. "I guess I'll go home."

"No, hang on." Wheels sits up, tangled in his blanket. "I'll walk you," he mumbles as he grabs around for his glasses.

His stomach twists a little at the thought. "Nah, you don't have to. Thanks though."

* * *

As he heads out, Snake realizes he can't go straight home. Coming home too early would prompt questions: _were you_ really _at Derek's last night? Was there alcohol? Were there girls there?_ He should be with Wheels right now, honestly, but he wasn't going to sit there and watch the guy sleep in.

Joey doesn't wake up until noon or so on the weekends, and he's not close enough with BLT or any of the other basketball guys to just show up at their door on a Saturday morning. And he's broke. Great.

He wanders a bit, idly. He's got his backpack, so he should probably head down to the library just to get a jump on things. And then he'll be able to answer Mom and Dad honestly, _yeah, I was studying, I swear._

Mom and Dad are going to kill him.

_You didn't do anything wrong,_ he tries to reassure himself. But Mom and Dad are going to kill him if they ever find out about this.

_What "this"? There is no "this."_

Wheels is really in deep shit if anybody finds out about him. Snake knew that, but he didn't really _know_ it, did he? He never really thought about it. But there's no way that his grandmother would let him stay if she knew. Hell, Snake would probably be screwed too just for hanging out with him. Guilt by association.

_But you didn't do anything. Did you?_

The spider crawls up his back again.

Snake arrives at the library without really thinking about it. Archie Simpson, the wind-up tin soldier. Goes wherever you tell it to.

But when he gets there, he knows he can't work with his mind like this. And he can't go home, and he can't go to Joey's, and he can hardly even think about Wheels. (Or really, he can hardly stop thinking about Wheels, and that's so much worse.)

On the corner opposite the library, though, there's a pay phone.

Three minutes later he's finally put through. "Glen, hi!"

"Hey, Arch." Glen's voice crackles through the speaker. "Is everything okay? Why'd you call collect?"

"Oh, don't worry, I just spent all my money last night."

Glen laughs. "That's supposed to make me worry _less?"_

"I'm fine. Trust me."

Across the line he can hear Glen cranking a timer. Ten minutes a call, that was the rule. Like prison.

"Whatever you say," Glen says. "Hey! Did I tell you Greg and I are getting a dog? Remind me and I'll send you a photo."

"Sure."

For a minute there's nothing but dead air. "Are you sure you're not in trouble? You sound nervous."

"Yeah. Sorry, I just came from playing basketball. I'm kinda worn out."

"It's pretty early for basketball," Glen says. But he doesn't continue the thought. _I'm not Mom; I don't pry,_ he said once, and he's stuck to that. "How's that going? When's your next game?"

"Next week Wednesday, I think. It'll be fine. What about you? Aren't you doing basketball stuff or something?"

"I'm too busy! I had to quit the club. School is eating up all my time."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, don't worry! I've always got time for my little brother." Glen laughs. "I'm being charged by the minute here. I wouldn't have picked up if I didn't want to talk to you."

Snake laughs along quietly while he tries to think of something safe to talk about. "Tell me more about this dog."

"Oh, she's great! She's a big yellow lab— Ginger. We picked her from this shelter downtown…"

As usual, Glen talks and Snake listens. The dog does sound pretty cute. Glen paints a vivid picture of her, friendly and fluffy and, apparently, the spitting image of Greg's old dog. Slowly, Snake returns to equilibrium.

Honestly, thinking about Glen living with his _(friend? lover? partner?)_ boyfriend was weird back in March, when it was fresh and scary, but things have calmed down over the past few months. Greg seems like a nice enough guy. They talked on the phone once, and he was polite if a bit distant:

_("Hi, Greg. So, what do you do?"_

" _I'm a line cook."_

" _Cool. I'm in grade ten.")_

And Glen's just so happy— not in the mushy puppy-love kind of way, but calm. A zen kind of happiness. He doesn't gush, but he'll mention Greg offhand pretty often with comments like, _oh, Greg made pizza tonight_ or _I couldn't catch the game live, but Greg taped it for us._ And every time, Snake can hear him smiling.

For a minute, Snake relaxes, imagining Glen visiting, dog in tow, and the two of them getting to hang out like they used to.

But then Glen asks, "So what were you doing out all night, buddy?" It's lighthearted. Snake can imagine the twinkle in his eye.

The words stick to his tongue and won't come out.

Glen chuckles. "Is this line tapped?"

Their joke from when they were kids. Normally he'd reply, _yep, the Ruskies have me_ or _agent, I'm being called back to base._ It was just a dumb little game that broke the tension when one of them got tongue-tied.

But Snake can only say, "No, I'm just tired."

What else is he supposed to say? What can he ask? It's stupid, but saying anything about what Wheels is going through feels like a betrayal of his confidence, even if he'd never know about it. Not to mention that at any moment, some kid from homeroom could walk by and listen in.

All he can think to ask is: _Why was I staring?_ But he can't say that. He can barely think about that.

"There's this kid in class—" he tries, but his mouth goes dry and he can't talk.

For a second there's only the ticking of the timer. "Is somebody beating you up at school?"

"No! No, it's nothing like that, don't worry."

"Okay," Glen says reluctantly. "Well, if you hear more from Headquarters, feel free to tell me."

"I will, Agent Simpson."

The timer rings, shattering their game.


	5. Chapter 5

Wheels starts to hope. It’s an itchy, nagging feeling, and like any itch, the more he tries to ignore it, the more insistent it gets.

Sunday night, he’s lying in bed, kept awake by Christmas Eve jitters. _He brought your money back._ The thought attacks Wheels as he rolls over. _You know Joey wanted to stay. He’d have been bitching and moaning when he had to leave._

He swats the thought away. _You_ saw _him staring at those girls._

_Maybe he was putting on an act._

Wheels shifts again. This stupid pillow keeps getting too hot; the sheets are strangling his legs. _Damn good act. Better than yours._

 _Yeah— but_ what if.

“What if” is worse than useless. Dozens of different “what ifs” have been keeping him up at night for years now. Wheels buries his face in his pillow and tries to smother them.

* * *

Monday morning brings more questions than answers. He wakes up mummy-tangled in his sheets, dazed from unnerving dreams as Grandma flips the light on and blares. It’s eight-fifteen already, she says. I can’t believe I have to drive you again, she says. Whatever.

It does mean, unfortunately, that there will be no walking to school with Snake and Joey. Instead, he’ll be booted out of the still-moving car directly into French class. Joey’s been banished to the grade nine hallway, but Snake’s there, sitting in the back next to Wheels’ unofficial-official assigned seat. He smiles, shaky, before his eyes flicker back to the board.

 _He’s your friend_. The thoughts ambush Wheels, hold him hostage. _He’s being friendly_. Wheels stares at Mme. Morin and scrupulously avoids looking at Snake, even though he could get away with it, even though Snake will never know what he’s thinking about.

 _He’s straight,_ Wheels reminds himself. _You know he’s straight, and you’re making everything weird. He’s your friend. You’re a pervert._ It becomes a chant, a litany to keep him focused on conjugation or whatever Mme. Morin is rambling about today. Obviously, that goal is a little too lofty even at the best of times, so he scratches a smiley face into his desk and doesn’t think about kissing Snake. He doesn’t let his mind wander and imagine what it’d be like to curl up next to him, even chastely, just lying side-by-side in his bed at home, enjoying the closeness. He doesn’t wonder what Snake’s thinking about. He can’t imagine.

* * *

Maybe Snake can read minds after all. Or maybe Wheels’ thoughts are printed across his face for anyone to read. He imagines them circulating in the _Degrassi Digest,_ on the front page in boldface type: Breaking news! Confirmed gay spotted in first period French! As he carries his tray of slop through the cafeteria, it seems that everyone is backing away from him, keeping a safe distance. But he passes Heather’s table and realizes what they’re really thinking. Wheels, what a heartless bastard, going through girls like Kleenex. If only.

Heather looks away as he passes; the group’s conversation quiets as if any noise could send Wheels into a rage. Should he say something to her? It’s not like he could sit down and say, “You would not _believe_ what happened to me in math.” Their conversations have been severed mid-sentence, cut off like a lost limb. He can’t even begin to fix it, so he wades across the lunchroom through the silence.

By the time he reaches their table, Joey’s already packing up. “Hey, where’s the fire?” Wheels asks.

“Oh, hey!” Joey’s mouth is still full of the last of his sandwich. “Sorry, dude. Walfish wants me to meet in, like, five minutes.”

“What’d you do now?”

Joey doesn’t smile. “I swear I don’t know. Something about this first draft we did. Fuck _The Scarlet Letter,_ man.”

Wheels probably would’ve shuddered in sympathy if he hadn’t dumped all knowledge of _The Scarlet Letter_ three seconds after last year’s exams. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

“Hey!” Joey turns around as he’s leaving. “Do you know where Snake is?”

“Uh, yeah, I think he’s out on the court with BLT.”

Before Wheels has the chance to comment, Joey’s gone.

 _See? Snake’s avoiding you,_ a voice in his head chimes in. _He knows you’re obsessed with him. He’s totally creeped out._

Wheels pops open his carton of milk and tries not to get wrapped up in the absurdity of arguing with himself. _I am_ not _obsessed. It’s just a crush._

_You know he doesn’t like you. It’s statistically impossible._

Wheels doesn’t know much about statistics in general or what percent of the population is gay. There have been a few kids in school he’s wondered about— quiet ones, mostly, ones he couldn’t pick out of a lineup— but most of the time he feels like one in a million. And if Snake’s brother is gay— well, lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. It’s not like it runs in families. Wheels’ birth dad and his string of bastard kids are proof enough of that.

 _He’s not into you,_ the voice reiterates, as if Wheels doesn’t know that. Ever since he started catching feelings (the way you catch the flu) he tried to stuff them down. It’s impossible. It’ll never happen.

But the hope is itchy.

He’s not _obsessed._ If anything, compared to Joey’s loudmouth proclamations of undying love and over-the-top swooning, he’s been as restrained as he can. He keeps his thoughts on a leash; he never lets himself fantasize, doesn’t wander into “what if.”

Snake, by nature, is pretty oblivious. Melanie basically had to put up a flashing neon _I like you_ sign, and Snake still struggled to understand her meaning like he was reading tea leaves. As long as Wheels resists the urge to lean over and kiss Snake in the middle of class, he can probably fly under the radar long enough for the feelings to go away.

So he doesn’t go out to the basketball court, even though he could sit on the sidelines and watch Snake play for the whole hour. He doesn’t even consider it. He sits and eats his lunch.

* * *

Snake’s got some kind of game coming up this week, so he and the rest of the basketball team are out there flailing to make up for the fact that they all suck. It’s a gift. The perfect time to pull away.

It’s subtle at first. It has to be. A slow withdrawal from lunchtime conversation. Imaginary dentist appointments after school. He makes sure it’s not a sudden break like last year’s class-cutting— the last thing he needs is Grandma siccing the social worker on him. But he can never be fully there. He works too hard to stomp out this crush, to ignore the itch. He let himself imagine it was possible and almost fell off the high-wire entirely.

But Snake notices. Of course Snake notices. He tiptoes around the obvious question, although he must have it in mind. Between classes, he wanders up like nothing’s wrong.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Wheels slings his backpack over his shoulder and faces the lockers.

“We had a game last night.”

“Yeah?” His voice stays flat enough.

“We lost. It was close though. Sixty-one to fifty-eight.”

“Next time.” Wheels marches toward math.

Snake shuffles in the hall. “Hey, uh…”

Wheels stops, but he doesn’t turn around. Underneath, his anger simmers. How could Snake be such an idiot? How could he not know what’s going on? Is he so blind that he can’t see Wheels slowly losing it whenever he’s around?

Maybe he’s just too fucking straight to be anything but oblivious. Because, as much as Wheels hates to admit it so finally, Snake must be straight— he would have no reason to hide the truth now, not from Wheels who would help him carry that secret. Even if it never took them past friendship, he would do that for him. But Snake has only reaffirmed time and time again that he’s straight, that anything more is all in Wheels’ desperate little mind.

“Never mind."

Wheels continues on toward math, undisturbed.

* * *

Joey keeps him tied to their group. Not on purpose— he doesn’t notice the change, because he’d comment on it if he did. But it’s honestly better that it’s accidental. Joey being Joey, he plans things to do even when Wheels turns down the invitations. And he can’t turn away from Joey entirely, not really, not when he didn’t do anything wrong.

One day after school, Joey approaches him alone in the schoolyard. "Yo! Wanna go play some video games?"

Video games with Joey. Classically safe.

"Sure, all right. Is Snake coming, or just us?"

Joey shoves his hands in his pockets and they walk as they always do, side-by-side. "Nah, he thinks you're mad at him."

It's as if Joey sucker-punched him right in the breastbone. "Why would I be mad at him?"

"I don't know. I figured something happened in class. Grade ten stuff and all that."

"We barely have any classes together. He's in 'smart math.'" Wheels shrugs and tries to appear nonchalant. It should be enough. Hopefully.

"He's just worried." Most of the leaves on the sidewalks have cleared away now in preparation for snow. A few crunch underfoot. "I mean, I get it, you're probably thinking about your parents because of your birthday and all, but Snake's such a worrier."

Wheels has been trying to keep his feelings stowed away— all of them— so he hasn't really thought too much about his parents either. "I'm fine, Joey, really."

"See, I told him to chill out, but you know how he is.”

"Yeah." He thinks, unwillingly, of Snake fretting over his well-being to the point that even Joey felt like he had to intervene. The squeeze around his heart tightens. "Are we on for practice tomorrow night? I can clear it up then."

Joey slaps him on the back. "The Zits are back, baby!"

The arcade is pretty quiet tonight, so they have their pick of games. Joey decides to spend his quarters on a few rounds of pinball.

"So, how's stuff with Caitlin?" Wheels asks in an attempt to push Snake out of his mind.

"She's still dating that loser. I don't get it, man." He sighs. "We talked some. I don't know. She seems pretty happy putting up fliers and stuff."

"Yeah.”

"I figure, hey, if she'd rather be with him... I'm not gonna stand in her way."

"I thought you were all in love with her."

Joey gives him a funny look before turning back to pinball. "I _am_ in love with her," he says. "So I want her to do what makes her happy.”

Wheels leans back and watches Joey work the pinball flippers for a while.

What would make Snake happy?

He doesn't know. At first, when Snake was acting so weird about the whole situation, he figured the guy just wanted an out— an excuse not to have to be around him now that he knows. But Snake wasn't the one who pulled away. If anything, he's gotten friendlier, with more one-on-one invitations to study or go out for pizza or just hang out.

 _Isn't that what you wanted?_ Wheels thinks. Maybe it was. He doesn't know anymore.

He can't stand being so close to Snake at lunch and yet not close enough, to be always not-quite-touching, knowing what could be and what could never be. And he knows that if he tried to talk to Snake about anything, he'd eventually spill everything, the friendship-destroying crush included. It'd be like scratching a scab. He'd start and be unable to stop, until he was bleeding like there'd never been a scab protecting him at all. Only raw skin.

But apparently Snake is hurt, at least according to Joey. And Snake usually has to be pretty damn insistent before Joey will take his worries seriously.

Can he be Snake's friend like this? One foot in the closet, one foot out? He used to handle it okay, shoving everything down as far as he could. But it was easier to ignore then. It was his private secret, buried like a time capsule, to be rediscovered years in the future when high school was long behind him. But sharing just part of the truth is worse, and sharing more is impossible.

And the more he thinks about it (especially here, with Joey standing beside him, completely ignorant), the harder it is to keep locked away from the rest of his life. The thought of being gay, while always in the back of his mind, has become so present that he's surprised when he remembers Joey doesn't know.

He can't keep this up forever.

Luckily, Joey has a talent for getting him out of his head. "So," he says as he feeds another quarter into the machine. "When are you taking the driver’s test, anyway?"

"The Monday after my birthday, are you kidding me?" He laughs.

Joey grins at him. "Just think, in two weeks you'll be able to go anywhere you want. Man, I am _so_ jealous."

"You could've passed your first test if you didn't get so damn distracted." He nudges Joey's shoulder— it’s nice being able to touch his friends casually like that without ten minutes of overthinking.

"No, the tester guy made me parallel park. How dumb is that? I mean, when am I ever gonna need to parallel park?"

"Come on, Joey, you can barely 'regular park.'"

And they laugh, a laugh with no hidden meaning. It doesn't have to be interpreted like a dumb English-class book— it is what it is.

* * *

That evening, Wheels sits on his bed, tossing a rubber ball around. He spent the six dollars on a Judas Priest poster, which he taped to the back of the door. (Who cares if the paint comes off the door? If Grandma has a problem with it, she can shove it.) He whacks Rob Halford in the face with the ball.

Could he talk to Joey about any of this?

What would Joey think if he knew?

“Hey, Joey,” he says to himself. _Thwack_. “Do you remember that one time we played truth-or-dare and you asked me what girl I thought was hottest? And I couldn’t answer?”

No, he wouldn’t remember that.

“Hey, Joey,” he tries again. _Thwack_. “You know how I always put up with your weird crushes? Well…”

No, that’s too combative.

“Hey, Joey,” he tries one more time. “Remember how we’re blood brothers?”

He catches the ball in his left hand and shifts it into his right. His scar is staring at him.

Does Joey remember that day? Does he remember convincing Wheels to go along with the scheme? Bleeding onto Mom’s nice new dress as she called the doctor? Wincing as his hand was stitched up? Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he forgot they ever did it.

If he told him the truth, would he renounce eight years of friendship?

 _There’s no_ reason _to tell him_ , Wheels thinks. They wouldn't have anything to say to each other after. They could never talk about crushes. He remembers Joey trying to goad him into checking out girls with him a few times, and that's not an experience he'd want to repeat even if he didn't have to pretend. He can picture Joey lingering on the sidelines, barely suppressing a nauseous look as he checks out guys. Like that would ever happen.

And the whole thing with Snake makes it a hundred times worse. What would it do to the band if he revealed he’s been harboring a crush on the guitarist? Joey would go ballistic.

But he’s still lying, and contrary to what Grandma may think, he doesn’t do that for kicks and giggles. Joey knows every dream of his, every nightmare, every stupid joke that’s ever passed through his head and every fear. Except the big one.

_Doesn’t it make you a bad friend, keeping secrets?_

Would Joey accept him if he told? Could they still be brothers?

Wheels throws his ball and wonders.

* * *

Wheels ends up keeping his promise. After school the next day, he heads to the band room. (It's not as good as getting the full run of the junior high auditorium, but it's nice of the band director to let them borrow the room occasionally.)

Snake sits in a black plastic chair, backpack resting next to him as he absently strums.

Wheels' backpack clatters against the linoleum. "Hey, man."

"Hey!" he says, bright enough to burn. "Joey said he’d be late; I figured you couldn't make it either."

"Nah." He shifts from foot to foot. Nowhere’s safe to sit. "I know I've been kind of a jerk lately."

"It's okay," Snake says easily. "Joey was getting worried about you, though."

Wheels collapses into a chair, not too close and not too far, and pulls out his bass.

"I was thinking we should learn a cover for the 'Everybody Wants Something' B-side," Snake says as Wheels tunes. "I was practicing 'Sweet Child o' Mine,' but the guy at the guitar store got mad at me."

"I don't know, I don't want us to get stuck as a cover band." Wheels readjusts the bass on his lap. "I've been working on this song— well, kinda just the bass line."

"Oh, cool." Snake's smile is so natural, so real, that Wheels can hardly stand to look.

"Here, let me grab my notebook and I'll show you what I have."

He flips open his notebook to a dog-eared page of sloppy tabs. A few rhythms rest sketched out between hand-drawn skew lines. “New Song.” That’s all it’s called. It’s a bit bluesy and a bit blue, even without any lyrics. He passes the notebook over, their fingers separated by a few inches of paper.

Snake picks through the bass line, plucking one string at a time, a ghostly rendition of his scribbles. It’s weird hearing it so high-pitched. “This sounds familiar.”

“I think I was playing it the last time you slept over,” Wheels says, as if the memory isn’t perfectly crystallized.

“Oh, yeah.” Snake repositions his guitar. “So for the melody, were you thinking something like…” He whistles a short tune as he plays the excerpt again, a little off-key but meshing perfectly with the bass line.

Wheels watches him long enough to forget what they were doing.

“I like it,” Snake says. “It’s kind of sad.”

“Yeah.”

They sit for a second, listening to the memory of the music.

"You sure you're feeling okay?" Snake asks tentatively.

Wheels breathes out slowly. "I just wanted a different, like, tone from 'Everybody Wants Something'. And it's a good practice exercise, 'cause it has that— what's it called..."

"Arpeggio," Snake supplies.

"Yeah, that." He sits for a second.

“I didn’t know you were writing stuff again."

“I was just kind of fooling around and it sounded good. Plus,” he adds, forcing a self-deprecating smile, “I’ve gotta stand out somehow, right?”

Snake smiles too— call and response. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, man, I’m a _bassist_.”

“Bassists are important! And besides, there’s plenty of famous bassists.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Well—”

“Don’t say Geddy Lee.”

Snake thinks for a second. “Paul McCartney.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m _just like_ McCartney.”

“Move over, Lennon-McCartney, ‘Simpson-Wheeler’ is the hot new songwriting team.”

“Songwriting team? It’s my song!”

“Well, I did the melody,” Snake says, “and I figured we’d put in a cool solo, too.” He rests his arm across Wheels’ shoulder and pans his other hand horizontally, like he’s looking at an imaginary crowd.

It's really starting to feel like Snake's making fun of him.

His shoulders tense as Snake grins like a moron and starts to describe the epic solo ("we'll put in some power chords, but, like, slow ones"). Snake can't be making fun of him, right? He's always been touchy-feely to an infuriating degree, but it never felt like an act— he'll hug Joey too, and Joey hugs back when it's called for. But lately it seems like he's been doing it a lot more, and a lot more conspicuously. Of course, given that it involves Snake, Wheels is probably blowing everything out of proportion again, obsessing over shit that’s not real. But when the three of them are together, it definitely seems like Snake touches him more than Joey. Maybe it's a show of good faith— _hey, I don't care that you're gay; let me prove it by hugging you, but, you know, in a straight way._ But the more he does it, the more it starts to feel like a big prank— _ha ha, I'd bet you'd like to touch me, freak._

Either way, Snake won't stop touching him. The weight of his arm is crushing.

Wheels shrugs him off and edges away.

“Sorry.” Snake looks away. “Personal space.”

“It’s fine.”

Snake slides back into his chair and picks a piece of lint off his jeans. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

Snake glances up. “Hm?”

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully this time. Not here, not now. No more of these fucking questions designed to pry open his whole goddamn soul and leave it to be dissected. “Whatever you were going to ask, just stop.”

“Sorry.” Snake slumps back. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Cool. Good for you.”

Snake looks wounded. “What’d I do wrong?”

“I’m just—” He starts to pack his bass away a little too hard. The strings reverberate as he unplugs it. “—sick of your dumb questions, okay? I’m not an encyclopedia. Stop asking me shit about— about all this.” Even when they’re alone, they’re never alone enough to say it. Not really.

“Okay,” Snake mumbles. 

They pack up as the halogen lights hum overhead, quieter than silence.

“Sometimes I wonder about stuff,” Snake tries again, slowly, “and I don’t have anybody else to ask.”

“What about your brother?” Wheels replies bitterly.

“I’m sorta, um…” He lowers his voice. “Not supposed to talk to him.”

The words cast a chill over the room.

“How come?” Wheels asks with artificial casualness, as if he doesn’t already know.

“He’s not supposed to come home now that he’s… you know, living with Greg.” Now he’s the one who can’t quite reach Wheels’ eyes. The most he manages are his sneakers. “They don’t want him influencing me.”

“Oh, my God,” Wheels says, almost involuntarily.

“Yeah.” Snake still can’t make eye contact. He shrinks against the plastic chair— Wheels has never seen him so small. “I call him sometimes, but I haven’t seen him since, uh… February, I think.”

Wheels claws open the scab. Who the fuck cares if Snake is making fun of him or driving him insane just by being his stupid self? He’s _here._ He could have— should have— left Wheels to save his own skin. Rumors are cheap— who knows what Heather might suspect, what Joey might find out? And Snake wouldn’t be safe. Not from classmates and not from his fucking scum-of-the-earth parents.

It’s bad enough to be thrown away by worthless fucking parents. But to watch your brother be thrown in the trash and have to live with those bastards every day for almost a year? Knowing if you weren’t the perfect son they wanted, they’d throw _you_ away too? How could you live like that? How could Snake ever look his parents in the eye again?

He should have left Wheels alone if he wanted to be safe.

But he didn’t leave. He isn’t leaving, no matter what it could cost him. No matter if anyone thinks he’s being _influenced,_ no matter how badly Wheels is coping, Snake isn’t leaving.

Wheels leans over Snake’s chair and pulls him into a hug, squeezing tight enough to hurt his own arms. While he’s still here to hug, neither of them will be left alone. Wheels won’t let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the accidental hiatus! Hopefully updates will be more consistent from here on out.


End file.
